


Voici Des Roses

by chensha



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chensha/pseuds/chensha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will proves his innocence, and Hannibal escapes. In the hospital, Will receives his first letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voici Des Roses

_And we, too, had a relationship—_  
 _Tight wires between us,_  
 _Pegs too deep to uproot, and a mind like a ring_  
 _Sliding shut on some quick thing,_  
 _The constriction killing me also._

-"The Rabbit Catcher," Sylvia Plath

 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter had not been seen for months. Will Graham, despite everything, had proven his innocence, and Lecter fled, leaving behind his elegantly decorated house and office, including a certain Special Agent bleeding out from a knife wound on the office floor. Will was still in the hospital, though he was mostly healed by now and impatient to get out.

Hannibal used to feed the dogs when Will was gone, but now Alana took on the responsibility. She visited the hospital often, so she also brought Will his mail.

"Looks like something special," she said one day as she handed him a stocky mauve envelope. She looked at him questioningly, as if he might know what it was. Will shrugged and turned it over in his hands. The envelope was made of ridiculously fancy material, and the return address contained no recognizable name or hint of what was inside. There was something familiar about it all, but he brushed it away.

"Well, let's hope it's good," he replied dryly, tearing it open at the side. It was probably one of those scams for the gullible or easily excited.

Inside was matching purple stationery, a single page covered from top to bottom in a neat copperplate hand. Will's stomach dropped, his expression crashing immediately from mild curiosity to unreadable darkness. It was Hannibal's handwriting. That's what he had recognized on the envelope. Dread filled him and he almost didn't read it. His hand went instinctually to touch his abdomen.

Will had hardly given any thought to Hannibal in the time since his injury. Well, he had thought about him for a month. A lot. But eventually he told himself that Hannibal was long gone, and that he was going to take advantage of his absence and make him equally absent from his life. And he did, happy to rid himself of the feelings of rage, disgust, and betrayal. But clearly, Will hadn't left Hannibal's mind. He wrote as if the long silence on his part had merely been a pause in conversation, time required for him to gather his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

_My dear Will,_

_Once again, I am relieved that you are alive. Your stomach wound should have been fatal - I apologize for that, and I wish I could have avoided it - so it's truly a miracle you survived. The scar, however, I won't apologize for._

_You know who you are. I had wanted you to believe you were the copycat murderer, enough to make your incarceration follow smoothly. But I failed. I admire you for that. I hope your mind remains unbroken even when your body is not._

_However. Let us not forget the reason why Mr. Crawford was so interested in you. (I assume he still is, but I hope he has sense enough to give you time away from the field when you recover.) Let us not forget the reason why we met in the first place: your gift of empathy, and of course, Garrett Jacob Hobbs._

_When you were my patient, I tended to blame your increasing instability on Jack Crawford. I proposed that you were suffering from trauma, after the murders you saw and continued to see. I later attributed it to mental illness. We know now that I lied to you on numerous occasions. With your new diagnosis, I can imagine that everyone is grateful for something to blame for your previous mental state. But here is the truth:_

_Nothing happened to you, Will, not even encephalitis. You happened._  

_I want to explain my reasons for keeping your disease a secret. You may know who you are, but I am sure you do not fully understand it. Do you still feel that your gift is a curse, even though you know it can never again drown you? Once you understand, that feeling will be gone. I did not wish to stop your hallucinations and episodes of lost time because for you, they were a catalyst for understanding. The temporary discomfort you experienced was a concentrated form of what most people experience in the span of years, decades, and even lifetimes. My plan required a tremendous amount of energy from you, but it was working. To be clear: my original intention was not to frame you for my murders. It was simply to help you understand and accept (synonyms, really) who you are. Unfortunately, our exercise was cut short._

_You may think that this is over. Are you ready to return to your cozy, isolated house? Convince Crawford to leave you alone and go back to teaching?_

_As I recall, one of the first things you said to me was, "You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed." I wonder what were you hiding in your subconscious back then, before we had even known each other._

_Many psychologists have diagnosed you with personality disorders, Will. In my practice, it is possible to teach a patient with a personality disorder to act normal. Therapists often try cognitive therapy, and sometimes it works. But oftentimes this patient will never leave therapy, if what everyone is trying to treat is indeed his true nature._  

_Indeed, you have a certain personality. But it is not a disorder. It is simply who you are._

_I remember the first time we ate together. You said you didn't need my therapy. I fed you eggs and human flesh and told you as you barely listened, "You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about." The inescapable rush of excitement you get when you reconstruct a murder, the awe you keep masked beneath your nausea, the thrill you felt when you shot Garrett Jacob Hobbs to death - it's just as much a part of you as your attachment to stray dogs. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Remember what I told you about God?_

_You were the first person to know exactly who I am. Do you consider me troubled? Insane? No matter what the answer, let me tell you: it doesn't matter, because in_ my _mind, everything is peaceful and calm. Do you enjoy the same comfort?_

_I worry that our work will remain incomplete. I wish you luck, and eventually, peace._

_Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

 

Will's hands were shaking with anger as he handed the letter and its envelope back to Alana, who was watching him with careful eyes. He'd forgotten how easily Hannibal could get to him, bring up everything he tried not to think about. _Bullshit, it's just bullshit,_ he told himself.  _He doesn't know what he's talking about._  He had the strong urge to rip the letter into shreds, but it was already gone from his hands.

"Try to hold it at the edges," he said half-heartedly. He'd have to tell Crawford about this, and Forensics would probably search it for prints.

Will could understand the reasons why Hannibal killed, once the bodies were laid in front of him and the evidence on display. He understood nearly _everything_ about Hannibal, except of course the mystery of how he came to be. He was both revolting and elegant, graceful, incredibly smart. But Will couldn't understand the motive behind Hannibal's mind games, or the truth behind their relationship. Hannibal had considered them friends. Did he mean it? Even now? Will had an idea of the answer, but the thought that a monster like Hannibal was anything more than a sociopathic, evil, manipulative bastard, and that Will had been _friends_ with him, was unsettling. On the other hand, forcing himself to call Hannibal a "monster" still made him hesitate a little.

"He's crazy, Will. You have to ignore him." Alana looked at him with understanding, the letter resting on her lap. She too had been friends with Hannibal, though their relationship was not nearly as close.

"He didn't seem crazy to me," Will said, but at the same time he realized she was right. He couldn't afford to listen to Hannibal again. He didn't need the bastard fucking around with his mind again. He looked at Alana and her soft curly hair, the face that had comforted and listened to him more than anyone since Hannibal. She had rejected him before because he was unstable. He was getting better now. But who knows what would happen if he let Hannibal get to him again? He glanced quickly from her face to the letter and then away.

As much as he wanted to shred and burn the letter, to pretend it didn't exist and move on like he planned, he also wanted to read it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo, my second attempt at fic. Please leave feedback if you liked this! I may continue - if so, it could just be a series of letters, or I might make it more plotty. Suggestions welcomed.


End file.
